Page 43

Even now, I can see him sprawled in the mud, mortally wounded, telling me with his last breath to protect the clan. His blood staining the earth, his eyes filled with regret. He was strong, but not wise enough. He let pride overshadow caution, and we paid a heavy price.

Now, as I clutch the table’s edge, that old fear wells up: Am I repeating his mistakes? By clinging to Lirienne, a human, am I letting personal feelings blind me to the clan’s best interest? My father’s downfall came from hubris, from ignoring threats he deemed beneath him. But sabotage and the clan’s terror are no lesser foes, I remind myself. And Lirienne is no enemy.

Yet doubt gnaws at the edges of my resolve. The clan’s near-mutiny forces me to question whether I’m ignoring the majority’s will. Perhaps a lesser orc chieftain would cast Lirienneout to appease them. But the thought twists my gut. I can’t do that. Not now.

My breathing turns shallow, and I lean against the table, eyes squeezing shut. Images of Lirienne surface unbidden: her tear-streaked face when I found her after Rakan’s death, the warmth of her body pressed against mine in a desperate moment of longing. My heart pounds at the memory of that night we shared in her tent—anger, fear, and desire tangling into a potent knot.

I let out a ragged exhale. I’ve fallen for her. The realization is as terrifying as it is undeniable. A human bride was meant to be a mere political arrangement, a tactic to secure peace. But she is far more than that—spirited, compassionate, determined to help my clan despite the hatred thrown at her.

Every time I picture the clan turning on her, cold dread lances through my chest. So it’s not just about forging alliances or preventing bloodshed. I care for her beyond reason. That admission hammers at the fortress of my orcish pride, making me feel exposed, vulnerable in a way I’ve never known. How do I reconcile that with my duty to the clan?

I open my eyes, the tapestry coming into focus again. My father’s memory looms. He died believing he was invincible, ignoring the warnings of cunning foes. Am I ignoring warnings, too—clan warnings that Lirienne is a liability? Or am I seeing truth where they see illusions?

A bitter laugh escapes my throat. If my father’s ghost could speak, perhaps he’d demand I rid the clan of any risk. But he once told me that orcs should adapt to survive, that the world changes, and our greatest strength is the will to change with it. Perhaps that’s the lesson he never fully learned, I think with hollow irony.

A faint commotion drifts in from the courtyard—more shouting, the clank of weapons. The clan is restless, on the verge of riot. My decision is clear: I will not cast Lirienne aside,no matter how many demand it. I’d risk repeating my father’s mistake if it means forging a truer peace. Or failing that, I’d fail on my own terms—defending the woman who dares to stand by me despite every threat.

I straighten, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension. The War God might judge me for defying orcish tradition, but I’ll face that judgment head-on. Better than living as a coward who betrays his own heart.

A soft knock on the hall’s side door announces Ragzuk’s arrival. The aging shaman’s apprentice steps inside, robes swishing. His eyes flick to me, concern etched in his lined face. “Chieftain,” he says, voice low. “I’ve spoken with the priests. They insist on leaving at first light. They also insist Lirienne partake in certain cleansing rites before we go—prostrations, if you will.”

My tusks grind together. “Cleansing rites,” I repeat flatly. More humiliations they want to heap on her. “And if she refuses?”

Ragzuk sighs. “Then the priests might interpret her reluctance as an admission of guilt. I fear it would turn the clan’s hostility explosive.”

I close my eyes, wrestling with the urge to break something. “Fine,” I say at length, voice taut. “We’ll endure their rites. But I’ll not have her subjected to public humiliation. Let them see I stand with her.”

A flicker of relief softens Ragzuk’s gaze. “I’ll make the arrangements as discreet as I can. The priests know you’re dangerously close to losing patience.”

I allow myself a terse nod. “Thank you, Ragzuk.”

He lingers, studying me. “Ghorzag… you bear this clan’s weight on your shoulders, as your father once did. Don’t let the clan’s fear overshadow your judgment. If you see sabotage, trust your eyes.”

A pang shoots through me at the mention of my father. “I will. But the clan demands a sign from the War God above all else. So let them have it.”

Ragzuk nods, turning to leave. “I’ll ready the priests. Rest if you can.”

Sleep is impossible. Instead, I spend the remaining hours of night quietly selecting a small band of warriors to join the pilgrimage—those I trust not to turn on me if Gaurbod incites violence. Karzug helps finalize the list, crossing out names of any orc who showed open hostility to Lirienne or who fraternized too closely with Gaurbod. By the time we finish, we have about a dozen orcs—enough to defend ourselves from raiders or beasts, but not so many that sabotage from within would be hard to contain.

The War God’s priests, meanwhile, insist on their own retinue. That raises my hackles, but I allow it, knowing the clan would demand some spiritual oversight. If the War God is indeed displeased, they believe the priests will interpret any “signs.”We’ll see about that, I think grimly. Perhaps we’ll unmask the real saboteur on the road; the priests’ presence might inadvertently help or hamper, but we have to accept it.

Harzug, an older warrior who once served my father, approaches me in the fortress armory while I check gear. He hesitates, then offers a quiet bow of respect. “Chieftain, I’ve heard the clan’s… mood. Some claim we’re all cursed. But if you say sabotage, I’ll follow your command.”

I pause, a battered metal helm in my hands. “I appreciate that, Harzug. I only ask you keep an eye out for anything suspicious on the journey—any orc acting strangely, any sign of tampering with our supplies.”

He presses a fist to his chest. “You have my word.”

As he turns to leave, I catch a flicker of hesitation on his face. “Something else?” I prompt.

He sighs. “Gaurbod’s influence grows. If he tries to sway your warriors against you on the road?—”

“I’ll deal with him,” I interrupt, voice tight. “He wants the chieftain’s seat, but I won’t let him take it with treachery.”

Harzug nods gravely, then leaves. The armor in my hands feels heavier than steel, weighed down by the knowledge that Gaurbod threatens everything from within.

At last, the torchlight pales, giving way to a faint silver glimmer on the horizon. I grab a moment’s respite in a deserted corridor, leaning against the cold stone to gather my frayed composure.This is it, I think. Dawn approaches. We either begin the pilgrimage or risk the clan’s total collapse.

Footsteps approach, and Lirienne appears at the corridor’s bend. She wears traveling leathers, a cloak draped over her shoulders, tension evident in her posture. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, the swirl of fear between us seems to hush. I step forward, unable to keep from offering a hand.